


set your house in order

by neverwhyonlywho



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 12:59:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverwhyonlywho/pseuds/neverwhyonlywho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wants to woo her proper-like, so he starts by getting his own flat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	set your house in order

**Author's Note:**

> 2013 fic advent calendar promptfill for ramblingsfromthemiddleofnowhere on tumblr. Inspired by bowerbirds, in which the males of some species make elaborate and colorful structures to attract females to the nests they build. This structure is called a bower, which is a very very old word--the use of it in birds alludes to the construction or presence of a small intimate cozy space (or cottage or whatnot). The more you know!

December sneaks up on him.

It's not long since he got here, now, and already he's amicably bickering with Jackie on a comfortable and regular basis. Together, he and Pete are discovering the joy of do-it-yourself home improvement (though  _joy_  is not quite the word Jackie would use, judging by the language she hears coming from the shop).

His bond with Tony is instant; the boy seems to believe the Doctor hung the moon, or was at least born there, and they get along famously. (Well, usually. The day the Doctor announces he's getting his own flat, Tony kicks his shin and shouts at him, later storming off to go cry in private. It takes the Doctor a solid hour of talking to him through his bedroom door before he finally coaxes the boy out with the promise of a stroll to the ice cream parlor; it's another two hours, a large banana split, and a promise of frequent sleepovers before Tony grudgingly accepts the decision.)

And Rose--Rose is...something. He thinks she's rather pleased about the move; they hardly get a moment alone in the Tyler household, and the way things are going, sometimes five minutes alone with Rose Tyler behind a locked door is all he can think about. (Well, aside from ten minutes, of course, or an hour, or two, or ten. But still.)

***

It's not just that, though.

"Come with me?" he asks her in one of the rare nights they get to themselves, right after he tells her about the flat. He tries to be all suave about it, planting kisses on her neck and shoulder and jaw, keeping his voice to a low murmur, and then he sets his teeth on her earlobe gently, just in the name of a little extra encouragement.

But sometimes he forgets that she's not the starry-eyed teenager she once was. He knows Rose, knows her boldness and her limits from years of being with her, but her smile is still so much the same that sometimes it's easy to forget that she's been through quite a journey of her own in the three years they've been apart, so he's a little surprised when she shakes her head.

"Not yet," she says. "...Someday, yeah." She bites her lip at that, fingers tracing over the buttons at the top of his shirt, and the movement is slow, and more of a caress than a touch, and he is very, very distracted. "But not just now."

He nods. "Is there anything I can do to help 'someday' along?"

There's that smile again, cheeky and warm. "I love you," she says, and kisses him again. (She does not, however, give him a better answer.)

***

He likes furnishing the flat. He gets lost in department stores for hours, comparing sofas and tellies and sets of wine glasses. There's Christmas shopping for the Tyler family and the Torchwood crew, too, of course, but that's easy enough; he hardly even has to make any special trips, what with all this shopping going on already.

(He's lucky that the sofa and the coffee table match by accident, because not much else does.  _He_  doesn't mind, but he wonders if Rose might.)

He spends the most time picking out a bed. He's still getting used to his body's sleeping requirements--he cannot  _believe_  how much time humans spend sleeping, cannot fathom how they evolved at all when they spend so many hours completely unaware of whatever is going on around them. So it's got to be comfortable, and he's only barely starting to learn whether this body likes soft beds or firm, one pillow or three.

But it's not just him, he's going to want Rose there with him, too, eventually, and he's not  _quite_  bold enough to say  _Rose, come to the department store with me and pick out the mattress you'd most like to have sex on_ , so he's at a bit of a loss.

In the end he picks a bed with adjustable firmness and hopes for the best.

***

He's surprised at how many little things a flat needs.

There are trash cans and toilet brushes, surge protectors and can openers, and he's starting to understand--if not quite share--the human fascination with  _stuff_.

***

When he thinks he's done, he invites Rose over the next evening for dinner: nothing too fancy, just salmon and orzo, but enough to prove that he's not a culinary liability. He hopes.

He cooks a trial meal the night before, just to make sure he's got the recipe down (not that she'd mind going out for chips instead, he knows, but the goal is to impress her--or at least not to humiliate himself), and it comes out all right.

He looks forward to having her here--she hasn't seen the place yet at all; he hasn't let her. But he's kept an eye to all of it: how she'd look giving him a tongue-touched grin at their little dinner table, how she'd look curled up against him on the sofa, how she'd look in her camisole and knickers, drowsy and frowzled and happy in bed.

He hopes she'll want to see herself there, too.

(He spared a thought the previous day for  _that_  kind of preparedness, as well, and then spent a solid twenty minutes in the grocery store staring in abject bewilderment at fifteen different types of condoms.)

(He picked four and hoped for luck.)

***

He burns the salmon.

(Worth it, though, considering that by the time the smoke alarm goes off he knows the taste of Rose Tyler's mouth after she's had two glasses of wine, knows that her blouse has snap-buttons, knows the feel of her thighs bracketing his hips and knows that her growl when the siren goes off is one of frustration, and want, and  _more_  want.)

("Me too." He grins, breathing hard, and drops a kiss to her lips before jumping up to go rescue the fish.)

***

It's Greek for dinner, in the end, and not even in the house--he walks with her down the street to some Mediterranean place he's discovered recently, and that fits the bill quite nicely.

"You're still coming over for Christmas, aren't you?" she asks him midway through her gyro, like the thought had just occurred to her. "Mum wondered, and you don't have any decorations up."

"Hadn't quite got there yet," he admits with a sheepish grin. "Are you sure Pete and Jackie wouldn't mind?"

"They'd mind if you weren't there," she says, like he's just a bit daft. "You're family." 

He hadn't quite thought of it that way, and he turns the idea over in his thoughts, touched.

***

He doesn't think she's going to stay after dinner, thinks the moment's lost or maybe she's not ready, but an hour and one suggestion from Rose later, they're behind a locked door and he's got his hand in her knickers and his mouth on her bare breast, and she seems as pleased with the arrangement as he feels.

Later, she's the one that reaches in his bedside drawer for a condom, and when she sees his selections, she pauses. He's all tactile need when he's aroused in this body, all touching and wanting and so he follows her over, nuzzling the back of her neck and stroking her side.

"Ahh, Doctor? Did you...did you have a preference?"

"Couldn't tell one from another," he mumbles into the curve of her shoulder, setting his teeth on the skin lightly. "One of those will work, right? Please tell me one of those will work."

Her shoulder trembles once, twice, and then she bursts out laughing. She's glowing, she's overjoyed, just like he is--but she's also clearly having a laugh at his expense. She flops onto her back and covers her mouth in a vain attempt to hide it, and he tickles her side in retaliation, which only makes her shriek and wriggle against him.

"Oi! Got no frame of reference for this," he huffs. "Was trying to cover my bases."

"All right, all right," she giggles, reaching over again and selecting one. "Yeah, this'll work. We'll just...save the glow-in-the-dark ones for a special occasion."

***

Rose spends a night or two a week with him, which, in his opinion, isn't nearly enough--but he trusts that she'll come around to it in her own time, and so he doesn't press her for more.

Christmas is an intense affair in the Tyler household: there are garlands everywhere, lights on all the trim outside, and a giant Christmas tree with so many light strands on it that the Doctor wonders whether (all things considered) there's a generator outside to help out with the electricity demands.

The day is loud and long, and by the time all the presents are exchanged and the turkey is cooked and dinner is had, the Tyler clan is overstuffed to a one but happy and together all the same.

"I can't recall a Christmas I didn't get into some sort of trouble," he says to Rose--well, to the top of Rose's head, really, as she's curled up against him.

"Nice change, then," she says, sleepily. "Keep it that way now, hm?"

"That's good advice, son," Pete says, and yawns.

"You go risking your neck again," Jackie says, almost affectionately, "I'll wring it myself."

"Me too," chimes Tony.

The Doctor has never felt quite so at home.


End file.
